


Enough

by Saber_Wing



Series: New Beginnings [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Blood and Gore, Drama, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Jaxson Trevelyan's A+ Parenting, My little BAMF cinnamon roll, Suspense, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 15:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18641362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing
Summary: “Get to the escape route!” Maxwell's voice was tight, strained. “I'll be right behind you.”Jax watched, frozen, as the boy thrust his blade into the assassin's gut, giving it a savage twist before pulling it out again.“Go!”Enemies of the Inquisition target Trevelyan manor. Max intervenes. His father wishes he hadn't.





	Enough

Jaxson Trevelyan was in over his head _._ He wasn't fool enough to pretend otherwise.

The bann backed clumsily away from his assailants. Whoever these people were, they knew enough about his habits to ambush him in the solarium, during his evening nightcap. There was no time during the day when Jax was _more_ vulnerable.

Two guards leaped to his defense as he backed toward the hidden exit – an escape route few had seen, or knew about. He could open it with his signet ring, and seal it behind him, but it was several dozen feet away, and getting to it would be nigh on impossible.

He took a moment to be grateful his family wasn't present. His wife's most recent visit with her sister couldn't have taken place at a more opportune time, and for Matthew to have gone with her was nothing short of miraculous. Jax's _own_ life meant little, in the scheme of things. His line of succession was more than secure, even if two of his three heirs _were_ off gallivanting about Thedas with the armies of the faithful.

Jax's guards went down quickly, in a visceral display of gore. Remarkable. What a few well-placed throwing knives could do. Each man was struck in the throat and down on the ground, choking on their own blood before they even knew what hit them. It was impossible not to admire that level of skill, even under the circumstances.

Jax tripped over a table leg as his assailants closed in – he crashed hard to the floor, managing to land on one knee. Not the most graceful death, to be sure, but better that than meet his end sprawled out on his back, like a brothel whore.

His escape route would be of no use to him today, it seemed.

As his attacker swept in for the kill, he thought briefly of the parcel and unfinished letter tucked away in his desk drawer. A wave of regret washed over him. He should have sent the bloody thing off to Maxwell weeks ago and been done with it.

Just as Jax was sure the end was nigh – blade close enough to gleam bright in the candlelight – an arrow careened past his head, striking his attacker in the throat.

The assassin froze mid-swing. He sputtered, sluggishly grasping at the wound in his neck. After a few more guttural gasps, he collapsed face-first onto the tile with a clattering thunk, blood spreading in a pool on the ground.

A hooded shadow dropped to the floor from the skylight: another arrow hit its mark, striking another target dead-center. The assassin went down, spraying blood in an arc upon the ground.

The remaining assailants – four of them, now – turned toward their new guest, each rightly deciding he was the more immediate threat. Jax's savior seemed to realize this. He fired another shot, this time straight through a man's forehead, before the assassins finally recovered. The three of them scattered, closing in.

The top half of his rescuer's face was in shadow, obscured by the hood, but Jax thought he recognized the tilt of his lips – the set of his jaw. That noble chin, marred by a razor thin scar on one side.

The archer flipped backward and away from his assailants, nocking another arrow as he went. He struck an assassin in the shoulder, and the man howled, stumbling as he lost his footing. The hooded man used the opportunity to dart forward, yanking the arrow from his opponent's shoulder and jamming it into his throat.

The hood slipped from his rescuer's head as he spun around to meet the next assailant. It was all Jax could do not to openly gape. His youngest son had just dispatched four assassins. Single-handedly.

While Maxwell had been busy with the others, one of the assassins had broken away toward Jax. He cursed his own inattention, only just noticing the man's approach. His attacker weaved toward him, brandishing a jewel encrusted knife that was – quite possibly – the finest thing ever to have killed a man. If the bloody thing hadn't been about to run him through, Jax might have wanted it for his collection.

Maxwell was there again before Jax could even blink. He heard a sharp intake of breath as the boy threw himself in front of him – he jerked back as if he knocked the blow aside, but he never faltered. He pushed against their attacker, snatching a dagger from his belt without missing a beat.

“Get to the escape route!” Maxwell's voice was tight, strained. “I'll be right behind you.”

Jax watched, frozen, as the boy thrust his blade into the assassin's gut, giving it a savage twist before pulling it out again.

“Go!”

Jax gritted his teeth. He backed away, yanking the signet ring from his finger and jamming it into the hidden fissure on the wall. The stone slid aside, revealing the escape route.

Maxwell backed toward him, bow poised for attack. He fired two more arrows into the final assailant's throat, motioning Jax inside with a hurried jerk of his head. Still, he did not turn to look at him. “Go! There could be others, and I'm not sticking around long enough to find out!”

Jax bristled. Once Maxwell was safely inside, he flipped the switch that would shut the doors behind them. “Mind who you bark your orders at, boy.”

To Jaxson’s shock, Maxwell actually laughed. “You never change.” The tunnels were too dark for him to see much, even after his son raised that glowing hand of his aloft as a light-source. The boy's back was to him, but he seemed winded. Strained.

Well. He _had_ just dispatched six assassins.

_Six._

Jax couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. The boy was a one-man army.

After a few minutes of walking, the pair finally reached the exit of the tunnels. Maxwell raised a palm to halt their advance, pressing his ear to the stone wall. “If all has gone well, my team will have cleared the place out by now. But stay behind me until I tell you.”

“Awfully brazen today, aren't we?”

Maxwell huffed. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Look. I don't actually expect you to admit this out loud, but we both know you're out of your element. This is just a normal day for me _._ Follow my lead, and maybe you won't die. You can go back to berating me for trifles later.”

The bann stiffened when a set of armored feet rushed toward them as Maxwell slid out of the tunnel. He grabbed his arm, ready to pull him back, but his son shrugged him off. Jax was just winding up to ask the boy if he had a death wish when he realized why.

“Thank the Maker, you're both all right!” Tobias – because of course he would be there too – clattered toward them. He favored his father with a tight smile before turning his attention to Maxwell, glowering worriedly. “What in blazes were you thinking, dashing off on your own like that?”

“It's a good thing I did. If I hadn't, we would have been too late.”

Tobias sighed. “A bit of warning would be appreciated next time. You scared me half to death.”

Maxwell chuckled. “Sorry.” He was holding himself rigid, cradling his left side with an arm.

Jax narrowed his eyes, allowing them to linger on his son. Had he been injured in the assault?

Suddenly, the boy's shoulders slumped. He swayed, stumbling as he fell against Tobias.

Tobias reached out to steady him, eyes widening. He stiffened as one of his hands came to rest on Maxwell's abdomen. The reason why wasn't apparent until he pulled it away, wet with blood. “I need a mage!” He snapped into action, wrapping an arm around Max's waist. “Now!”

The boy _was_ injured. But when? How?

...that assassin.

Maxwell had stepped out in front of him. Jax assumed the boy blocked the knife he'd saved him from, but there it was, beautiful jeweled hilt jutting out of his midsection. The boy's leathers were dark enough that he hadn't noticed the bloodstains until now, spreading from the wound in his abdomen, and soaking into his breeches.

“Father!” Tobias's face was hard. _“Now!”_

Maxwell attempted to straighten back up. “No. No, it's okay. I'm okay.”

“Don't be ridiculous, sit down. Where in blazes did everyone go?” Tobias eased Maxwell down onto the floor. He undid the straps of his leathers in record time, tearing at the tunic underneath to get closer to the wound.

“So, um. I may or may not have been stabbed.”

Tobias rolled his eyes. “Yes, I can _see that,_ dear heart. Thank you ever so much for the commentary.”

“At least I didn't take the knife out and make it worse, l-like some people I know,” Maxwell quipped, throwing Tobias a lopsided grin. Jax didn't understand the statement, but his older son groaned with dismay.

“For the last time, I _didn't_ take it out. The rogue...oh, no you don't. I know what you're doing, it's not going to work.”

“Can't blame me for trying.”

Tobias grimaced as he surveyed the wound. He turned to Jax, eyes wild. “I can't do anything with this. _I'll_ run for help. I'm faster than you. Stay with him, don't touch the knife, and for Maker's sake, don't let him move.”

Without waiting for a reply, Tobias turned back to his brother. He drew him into his arms, pressing a hurried kiss into his temple. There was an air of familiarity about them Jax had never seen before – a warmth that, under normal circumstances, would have him admonishing them. Such vulnerability was a dangerous thing to display.

“Stop panicking. I-It's not...as bad as it looks.”

“Oh, sure. Fine. Nothing to panic about.” Tobias combed a shaking hand through his hair, turning to Jax with pleading eyes. “Look after him. Please.”

“That needs to be _said?_ ”

“Yes.” Tobias gave him a sharp look. Admonishing. “It does.”

The words hit their mark like a physical blow. Jax would never be father of the year, it was true. But for Tobias to suggest he couldn't be trusted with Maxwell at all? It was a notion he more than resented.

“I don't like what you're implying.”

“I don't particularly care what you like.” Tobias surged to his feet. “Stay with him. I'll be back.” He stared Jax down – a clear warning in his gaze – before dashing back down the hallway in the opposite direction, running as if fire were chasing his heels.

Despite his anger, Jax couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. The Tobias who'd left Ostwick in search of Maxwell would never have spoken to him that way. Even if he deserved it. He swallowed his fury as best he could, settling up against the wall.

“You should have said something,” Jax groused.

The boy grimaced. He coughed, voice pained. “Nothing we could do about it anyway. Getting you to safety t-took...priority.”

Jax turned his head to look at his son, regarding him with a fair bit of indignation. “And I suppose bleeding to death quietly while you babysat me was your sworn duty? Do not patronize me, Maxwell. You shouldn't have done that. It wasn't your place.”

“ _What_ wasn't, saving your life?”

Jax clenched his fists. “You should have _told_ me you took that knife!”

“Why? You couldn't have done anything.”

His son was right. Jax was no medic. What little first aid he knew had been taught to him so long ago, he doubted he could employ it if he tried. And even if he _could_ , they had no supplies. No time to do anything but flee.

“It doesn't matter! Your life is far more valuable than mine. Why would you do such a foolish thing?”

“You're my father.” Maxwell's voice was matter-of-fact, as if that should have been obvious. “Besides...I k-knew this...wouldn't kill me. I'm younger. I heal f-faster."

The thought of Maxwell weighing the pros and cons of being physically injured to spare his father pain – after everything Jax had done to break him of such compassion – shamed him more than he could say.

“It's not your job to protect me. Don't do it again.”

A few moments of silence passed.

Maxwell laughed, though it dissolved into wet, rattling coughs halfway through. Jax didn't like that sound. His chest tightened uncomfortably.

“You know something? I think I've...f-figured you out.”

Jax raised an eyebrow. “ _Have_ you now?”

Maxwell squeezed his eyes shut. He exhaled shakily, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. The boy slid further down the wall for a moment, but he winced, pushing himself back up with a shaking arm. His words came slow, almost slurred. “Yup. You're an a-asshole.”

Amazing, that the boy still knew how to get a rise out of Jax. How to poke, prod, and hit exactly the right buttons to _piss_ him off.

How strange, that he'd missed it.

Maxwell marched to the beat of his own drummer. He always had, from the moment he'd stumbled out of his nursery. He was soft where Jax was hard: head-strong, brave, bold with his emotions. Not at all interested in niceties and social graces, though he could fake it with the best of them. All dangerous traits to have, being the son of a man with far more enemies than friends.

Jax tried everything to teach that child. He'd cajoled, berated, curtailed his privileges. Maker, he'd even stricken him a few times, when his temper had gotten away from him. He wasn't proud of that. Or of the chasm that widened between them more and more with each passing year.

And yet, that fire of his – that indomitable spirit. That unbreakable defiance Jax never quite managed to eradicate. It may well be the only reason his son was even still alive.

Maxwell's strength was faltering. He slid down the wall again, unable to support his own weight. While he'd allowed himself to lean on Tobias before, he was leaning _away_ from his father, and why shouldn't he? Jax had made sure his son didn't feel safe relying on him years ago.

He'd thought that would be enough to protect him. To shape him into a man who could survive the cut-throat world they lived in. In the end, all he'd really succeeded in was making his youngest son think he couldn't count on his own father for anything – even while bleeding out on the floor, mere inches away.

“Stop that.”

Maxwell blinked. “S-Stop what?” His brow furrowed with confusion. “I...I don't...”

“Don't be a fool.” Jax swallowed hard, looking away as he sidled closer to Maxwell. “I'm not your brother, but surely the floor isn't preferable.”

Maxwell watched him with bleary eyes, groaning in what seemed to be equal parts pain and frustration. “I'm too tired for this, father. What are you telling me?”

“Oh, for...here!” Jaxson reached out to Maxwell – a bit roughly, if the boy's quiet hiss was any indication. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to remember that his son was injured. He gentled his touch as best he could, tugging him against his side.

“Oh.” Maxwell breathed. Though his tone was weakened, strained – the shock in the word was unmistakable.

Almost another full minute passed before the boy allowed himself to relax against him, but eventually, he relented. He went limp. Jax was forced to tighten his grip on him, so he wouldn't fall.

“T-Thank...thank you.”

Jax grunted.

He realized now, how much effort it had taken his son to remain upright. The boy was trembling against his side. A pang of anxiety overtook him, tightening the knot in his gut. Tobias had been gone for a few minutes. Surely, he would have tracked down one of the mages in his rag-tag group, and been on his way back by now.

“I-I don't...know how much longer I can...s-stay awake.”

Jaxson found himself swallowing panic, despite himself. “Don't go passing out on me.”

“D-don't...think I have a choice....”

“Maxwell!” His voice came out more shrill than he meant it to. “I mean it!”

“Sorry.” There was amusement in his tone – _amusement_ , of all things. The boy's full weight sagged against him.

After a moment, he was still.

Jax squeezed his eyes shut against the raw fear that seized him, muttering the Chant, like a prayer. He ran his fingers over the beads around his neck, clutching Andraste's holy symbol with a shaking hand _._

_O' Maker, hear my cry. Guide me through the blackest nights..._

Jax almost didn't hear the footsteps thundering toward them until they were right upon him, growing louder, and spilling into the room from the hallway. Tobias emerged with two unfamiliar people, magic glimmering on their fingertips. The two mages dropped to their knees as Tobias took Maxwell away from Jax, pulling him into his arms. The boy didn't stir.

Jaxson shuffled back to give them space to work, but remained as close as he dared, eyes locked onto the proceeding. He was struck by the tenderness in Tobias's eyes as he settled Maxwell against his chest, pushing the sweaty hair away from his forehead.

_O' Creator, see me kneel. For I walk only where You would bid me..._

“Tobias, be a dear and grip the hilt of the blade, if you please. On our mark, you'll pull it out.” One of the mages – a beautiful, dark-skinned lady – instructed, tone steady and calm.

Tobias did as he was told, the two mages hovering over the wound expectantly. Their faces were grim, determined, as they poised their hands at the ready, glowing green with magic.

“Now.”

Blood gushed from the wound anew as Tobias yanked the knife out of Maxwell's abdomen, spewing forth with enough force to splatter their clothes. Neither mage let it deter them. They didn't hesitate for a moment – one of them thrust their glowing hands over the gash, while the other worked from the outside. Jax hadn't the slightest clue what they were doing, but _they_ seemed to know their work well enough. He placed his faith in them, not that he had any choice. And in the Maker.

Maker, _please..._

_My Creator, judge me whole. Find me well within Your grace...._

Eventually, the mages succeeded in closing the wound. They tentatively removed their hands, inspecting it more closely before deciding the Inquisitor was stable enough to move.

Tobias leaned over his brother, slipping an arm under his legs, and another behind his back. Slowly, carefully, he stood back up with Maxwell in his arms, hefting his weight with apparent ease.

“Gently now. We don't want to re-open it.” One of the mages – the elven one – cautioned, bald head glimmering with sweat. Jaxson was all but forgotten as he found himself trailing along behind them, making their way through long, empty hallways of the keep and back into the main foyer.

Jaxson could hear himself barking orders to his own men almost as if in a dream, directing them to form up around the Inquisitor on his way to the infirmary. If they noticed the barely detectable tremor in the words, they didn't comment. Tobias, however, gave him a look: sharp. Knowing. Jaxson scowled, and looked away.

How long he sat there, Jax hadn't the foggiest clue. Time seemed a frivolous thing, wretched thing. Just as he was truly starting to worry, however, Tobias emerged from the infirmary. There was dried blood crusted on his arms, his hands. Sticking up in his hair, where he'd run his fingers through it. But there was some measure of relief in his expression when he sat beside Jaxson, regarding him carefully.

“The blade went deep, but it isn't fatal. He's going to be fine.”

Jax couldn't quite bring himself to be ashamed of the way his shoulders bowed with relief. “He took that blade for _me_. Pushed me away from an assassin, the daft fool. I didn't realize he'd been hit until he collapsed.”

“That sounds like him.” Tobias shook his head with exasperation, smiling softly. His gaze was shrewd. “You seem shaken.”

Jax grunted. He wouldn't deny the words, but damned if he was going to elaborate. “What are you doing here, anyhow? Your intervention was most...timely.”

“Our spymaster has her hand in everything – a contact of ours tipped her off. Luckily, we happened to be close enough to aid you.” Tobias paled, clenching his jaw. “Max was _sure_ you'd be in the solarium. I wasn't. If he'd wasted another moment, arguing with me...”

“Neither of you should have risked coming here at all. You're not my nursemaids. If I can't save my own life, what good is it? And what good is it to _you_?”

Tobias raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You're our father. Does it _have_ to be good for something?”

“Of course it does! Have I taught you nothing? I'll not have any child of mine throwing his life away to save me. Especially _him_.”

“Oh?” Tobias crossed his arms over his chest, keen gray eyes boring into him. “And what's wrong with him saving you, specifically?”

Jax narrowed his eyes, clenching his fists so hard, his knuckles turned white. “Don't play dumb with me, boy. You know full well what's _wrong_ with it.”

_After everything I've done?_ Jax did not say.

He didn't have to.

“Perhaps.” Tobias narrowed his eyes. “But _he_ certainly doesn't.”

Jaxson thought again of the unfinished letter stashed away in his desk. Of the velvet-wrapped parcel, burning holes through the wood. Hours ago, not sending it had been one of his greatest regrets. Could he really afford to withhold it now? Did he want to?

He cleared his throat, avoiding Tobias's cool gray eyes. Soft, and oh-so-knowing, he had half a mind to pluck them from his head.

“I don't have time for this. Keep me informed.”

Tobias said nothing as Jax stormed away, but his silence spoke volumes. And when he arrived back in his study, collapsing into the chair at his desk, he removed an unfinished letter and a velvet-wrapped parcel from the drawer. He spent the whole night staring down at that parchment, waiting for words that may never come.

* * *

Maxwell winced as he inched along the wall, one hand braced upon it. In hindsight, the walk upstairs to the rookery had been a bad idea. Solas and Vivienne had done a remarkable job patching him up, as always, but he'd been given strict instructions to stay in bed.

Tobias and the others assured him they'd sent ravens to Skyhold with updates on the current situation, but _he_ was the Inquisitor. They'd need his full report sooner rather than later. Max gritted his teeth as the next step he took pulled at something in his side. He paused, gingerly cradling his abdomen.

Once he actually made it back to bed, he probably wasn't going to be leaving it for the foreseeable future. Max was stubborn, not stupid _._ He knew when to quit. Sure, he probably shouldn't have started to begin with, but still...

He was so focused on his end goal – the door to his bedroom at the end of the hall – that he almost ran right into his father as he rounded a corner. Max stumbled as he side-stepped, swallowing a few choice curses at the pain erupting from his wound.

Jaxson Trevelyan raised an eyebrow. “Should you be up and about? Without guards?” Outwardly, his expression didn't change, but his lips thinned, tightening into a grim line. Max knew that only happened when he was particularly displeased.

Then again, he was displeased a lot. Maybe that was just his face.

Max grimaced, voice tight. “Probably not.”

Jax scoffed. “I won't ask why you disobeyed medical advice, but it goes without saying that you are to be off your feet, immediately.”

Maxwell huffed. Was he _really_ still bossing him around? “Does being _you_ ever tire you out? Because I'm exhausted just watching.” A wave of dizziness struck him, and he was forced to pause again, pressing a hand to his forehead.

His father surprised him by taking Max's arm when he stumbled, holding him steady.

“Mind your tongue, boy. Being wounded will only earn you so much leeway.”

Despite his father's stern reply, Max found himself grateful for his presence. By the time they'd reached their destination, he felt faint. A cold sweat had broken out upon his brow. And Max knew he must be delirious when his father approached the bed before he could, turning the covers down for him.

Maxwell couldn't contain his shock. He cocked his head at him, openly gaping.

His father indicated the mattress with a jerk of his head. “Well, what are you waiting for?” And was it Max's imagination, or did he detect a hint of embarrassment?

Max blinked once. Twice. Then, he slid under the covers, too stunned to do otherwise.

His father curtly brought the sheets over his legs, pulling them up to his torso. His movements were hurried, rushed. As if he wanted it done and over with as quickly as possible. Still, it was the most 'fatherly' thing Jax had done since Max had been out of short pants. And even before that, he could count the number of times he'd literally been tucked into bed on one hand.

“Wow. I should almost bleed to death more often.”

Jax scoffed. That was _definite_ embarrassment this time. “What did I say about giving me lip?”

Maxwell ran his fingers through his hair, wincing when they came away drenched with sweat. He regarded Jax warily.

“You're being awfully nice to me.”

“What, I can't be _nice?”_

Max scoffed. “Not in my experience.” He slammed his mouth shut the moment the words escaped, mortified despite himself. He hadn't meant to be quite that blunt.

Jax surprised him again by not reacting with anger. Instead, his lips twitched, twisting into a humorless smirk.

His father had crafted walls of adamantine around himself – walls so thick, Max doubted even _he_ knew what lie beneath. He never truly relaxed his guard, but there was something softer about him today. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

“You had no right to take that blade for me.” Jaxson crossed his arms over his chest, glowering at a spot on the wall.

Max narrowed his eyes. “I had _every_ right. It was my choice, and I'd do it again.”

“I don't want you hurt on my account, Maxwell, and that's an end to it!” Jaxson's face twisted with anguish – for a split second so quick, he'd have missed it if he'd blinked.

“The reason those assassins were here in the first place was because of _me._ There are a lot of people who want to hurt me, and anyone associated with me. We're lucky we were close enough to come to your defense, but I won't allow this to happen again. I'll station men here if I have to.”

Jaxson's nostrils flared. “I do not approve.”

Maxwell released a bitter chuckle. “You've never approved of a single thing I've done my entire life. Why should this be any different?”

His words seemed to hit their mark much harder than he expected them to.

His father didn't...grimace, exactly. He was actually convinced the man's face would crack and fall off if he tried. But he did grow very still, lips pressed tightly together in a clear show of discomfort. When Jax finally turned his eyes on Maxwell, they were tired. Old.

“You truly have no idea just how much trouble you are, do you? How many boots I've had to lick to clean up your messes over the years?”

Max clenched his fists. “ _Oh,_ my apologies. Luckily for you, I'm not your _problem_ anymore.”

To Maxwell's surprise, his father laughed – actually _laughed –_ a choked off little bark that sounded more like a dog being strangled, but it was there anyway. Jax rubbed his temple with a thumb, shaking his head.

“Willful child.” There was a hint of fondness there, underneath the reproach. Max wasn't sure he'd ever heard it there before, and he was far too tired to puzzle out what he was supposed to do with it.

“What are we doing, father?” Max winced, pressing a hand to his side as he pushed himself further up the bed. “Why are you here?”

“Not to fight with you, despite what you may think to the contrary.” Jaxson shifted in his chair. The bann was clearly uncomfortable, but he reached into his pocket anyway, removing what looked to be a folded sheet of parchment and a velvet box. He thrust the box at Maxwell wordlessly.

Maxwell stared at it, perplexed. “What's this?”

Jaxson practically growled his response. “Just take the bloody thing.”

Confused, Maxwell reached for the box with narrowed eyes. Half-expecting a poisoned-dart or something equally as sinister to fly out at him, he snapped the lid open...and promptly froze. His spiraling thoughts ground to a screeching halt.

“My signet ring.” Maxwell gazed upon it with wide-eyes. He plucked it from the velvet box, smoothing a thumb over the metal. “How did you...?”

“In one of your letters, you mentioned you'd lost yours at the Conclave.”

Maxwell nodded, caution in his gaze. “I took it off to wash up for the evening. Went for a walk. That was when I found Corypheus.”

Jaxson grunted. “Yes, well. I took the liberty of having it replaced.”

Maxwell turned the ring over in his hands. He noticed something carved into the silverite: a tiny, elegant inscription inside the band.

_Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked, and do not falter._

That was a line from Jaxson's favorite Canticle. Max knew it well.

It was just the Chant, for Maker's sake. This should have been as cold and impersonal as _anything_ his father did, and yet...

“We have always had our differences, Maxwell. We'll have more, I'm sure. But I am...” Jaxson cleared his throat. He seemed to stumble over his words for a moment. “You've done well. I am proud of the man you've become.”

“You...” Max was speechless. He wiped a hand over his face. “You commissioned this for me?”

“I certainly didn't pluck it off a _tree,”_ Jax snapped.

Maxwell couldn't move. Didn't dare speak for fear of shattering the moment. Maker's breath, his father's _cheeks were flushed._ He hadn't even known they could _do_ that.

“Here.” Jaxson thrust the parchment into his hand, stamped with the official Trevelyan seal. “I was going to send this with a raven, but you may as well take it now, so long as you're here. I must take my leave. I've other business to attend.”

Jax rose from the chair. He paused just before he reached the door, throwing Max a glance over his shoulder.

There was sorrow in those eyes. Conflict. Regret. Another deep, raw emotion: one Max didn't dare name.

And yet, those _eyes._

They reminded him of Toby's, when he'd taken him into his arms after the Conclave. To Bull's, the first time he'd called him " _Kadan.”_ When someone looked at you like you were everything...

...what else could that be called but _love_?

The bann must have seen it, the moment understanding dawned on Max's face. Visibly shaken, he broke eye contact, slamming the door behind him.

Max sat quietly for a long moment, pensive.

Jaxson Trevelyan was the largest presence in any room. He could talk his way into or out of anything, and he always knew what to say to get what he wanted. Knew how to take any situation and turn it to his advantage. Such a man couldn't afford any vestige of vulnerability, however small. Whereas Max governed with compassion and mercy whenever he could, his father did so with fire, steel, and subterfuge.

So, no. Jax would never say he loved him. Max didn't think he could _,_ even if he'd wanted to. But it was there, and he wasn't blind enough not to see it. He blinked at the realization, stunned, before breaking the wax seal with shaking hands, unfolding the parchment to read its contents.

_I will not ask forgiveness. I will not make excuses for the pain I have caused. Both would diminish your experiences._

_I will say only that I failed you._

_I'm sorry._

Three lines. Five sentences. So few words, to apologize for every time he'd ever beaten Max down. For every time he'd broken him, brick by brick, and tried _so_ hard to rebuild him with pieces that would never fit together, no matter how much he pushed or shoved.

It wasn't enough. Max wanted it to be. So badly, he could cry.

But...maybe it didn't have to be.

Sure, it was cheap to hand him an apology letter when Jax could have just told him, like a normal person. But when had anything about his father ever been normal? Letter or not, it was still arguably the most vulnerable he had ever allowed himself to be.

It wasn't enough _now._ But maybe one day, it could be. Maybe this was just one step in the right direction, after over two decades of missteps.

The emotional turmoil of the past few minutes, combined with his little trip to the rookery, had done Max in. He slid the letter into his bedside drawer for safe keeping and eased himself back down onto the mattress, cradling his side. It was throbbing steadily now. The pain was making him nauseous.

Despite his discomfort, Max was so exhausted, he must have managed to nod off anyway. One moment he was blinking blearily at the sunlight shining through the drapes, the next, he was opening his eyes to find that night had fallen. Tobias was sitting at the desk across the room, scribbling something on a sheet of parchment. Max rolled onto his side, not quite managing to stifle a groan.

Tobias turned toward the sound. “Max?” He rose from the chair, making his way across the room. “How are you feeling?”

“Ow.”

His brother chuckled, perching on the edge of the mattress. “Eloquent, as always.” He reached into the bedside table, plucking out a vial. “I was told to give you this when you woke. You were due for it hours ago, but we didn't want to wake you.”

Max gritted his teeth, plucking the vial from Tobias's hand. He threw back the potion in one gulp, not bothering to suppress a grimace. “Ugh. Wretched.”

“It's medicine _,_ my dear. It's not meant to be enjoyed.” Tobias ruffled his hair. “Lie back. I need to change your dressings.”

Whatever it was turned out to be extremely fast-acting. He could already feel it taking effect. He relaxed against the headboard behind him, tipping his head back as Tobias drew the covers down. His brother unwound the bandages, careful to avoid the more tender parts of the injury.

“What happened after I passed out, anyway?”

“Oh, the world went utterly _mad,_ Maxwell. Simply out of its head, I tell you. Vivienne and Solas were working together civilly. The servants are still scrubbing blood off the tile. And most shockingly of all was that father actually seemed concerned for your safety.”

Max chuckled, wincing as he clutched at his side. “Stop being funny. It hurts to laugh.” He grinned despite his words, letting Tobias slap his hands away so that he could continue tending the wound. “He actually came to see me earlier, you know.”

Tobias raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And how did that go, dare I ask?”

“Not terrible, actually. See for yourself.” Max wiggled his finger – the shining signet ring catching the candlelight.

Tobias halted his ministrations, eyes widening comically as he reached out to take Max's hand. He ran a thumb over the smooth metal, stunned. “These aren't easy to commission. He must have been holding onto it for a while. He _was_ rather shaken up after your daring rescue. Perhaps he saw your survival – and his – as a chance to make things right.”

“Sounds familiar. Do I really have to almost die every time someone needs to have an epiphany around here?”

Tobias grimaced. “Let’s hope not, or you've got at least two more to go.”

The sound of footsteps from the door had both brothers turning toward it. Tobias rose in one smooth motion. He shifted to cover Max, hand on the hilt of his sword. When the door swung open, however, only their father stood on the threshold, watching Tobias with bemusement.

“Relax. It's only me, for Maker's sake.”

Tobias took a breath, seating himself back on the mattress again. “My apologies. Until Max recovers, a degree of caution is necessary, I'm afraid.” He tied off the bandages he'd been winding around Max's torso, motioning their father toward a chair.

Jax grunted. “You might have told _him_ that earlier, when I found him wandering the halls unguarded.”

Max winced. _Fuck._

Tobias whirled on Max. _“What?”_

He held up a placating hand, voice sheepish. “I just went to the rookery and back, that's all. I swear.”

“Why? If you had a message you wanted sent, I could have taken it myself. Maker's breath. That's what I get for assuming I can leave you alone for a couple of hours. I'm used to having Bull around to run interference and curtail your stubbornness.”

Max scoffed. “Oh, come on. I'm not _that_ stubborn.”

Tobias raised both eyebrows so high, Max might have been insulted – if his brother hadn't been completely right. He sighed crossing his arms over his chest. “Okay. That's a lie. Fine. I won't do it again.”

“No. You won't. I mean it, dear heart. If anything were to happen to you...” Tobias cupped his cheek – heedless of their company, it seemed.

“Nothing's going to happen. I'll be good, okay? I'm sorry.”

Their father had remained silent through the exchange, watching them. Just watching. Staring, with a look on his face so unreadable, Max wasn't at all sure what to make of it. Whereas before, both of them would have been strictly admonished for such open emotion, Jax seemed content to leave them to their own devices. At least for now.

Tobias turned his head to look at their father, and although his brother stiffened, he did not pull away from Max. Instead, he gazed back at Jax, defiant.

“Peace. Neither of you has anything to fear from me. You are your own men. Do as you will.”

Tobias blinked, looking as stunned as Max felt. He faltered for a moment, seemed to struggle for words. “Surely you didn't come just to tell us that. What brings you here so late?”

It was their father's turn to falter. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Can't I take an evening to converse with my sons?”

Max and Toby exchanged a glance. This was unknown territory, and therefore, dangerous.

Jax sighed. He seemed to understand their caution and made the first move, pointing at Max rather abruptly. “What _is_ that blighted thing on your cheek, anyway? Where did you come upon such a gruesome scar?”

Max groaned. “Don't get him started.”

Tobias rose to grab a decanter of brandy from a nearby cabinet. He removed three glasses and filled each with a measure of liquor. “ _Someone_ thought it might be grand to get choked to death by a behemoth of a man in a pointless bandit fight.”

“Oh, come on, that was one time!”

Tobias smirked at Max, handing each of them a glass. He pulled a chair up next to their father. “We'd been in the Hinterlands for days, wrapping up some business with the rebel mages and templars. All of us were eager to get back to camp. A bit too eager – we walked into an ambush.”

Their father sat listening intently, watching Tobias with a vague sort of fondness. And Max thought back to the letter in his bedside table. He thought back to three lines. Five sentences. A pair of eyes filled with deep, raw emotion. Eyes that voiced the love words never could. And he knew this was another step in the right direction. Another step away from a lifetime of resentment.

Jax shifted his attention to Max, favoring him with a tentative smile.

He met his father's gaze, and smiled back.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Most parents don't wake up one morning and just decide: "Hey, you know what, I think I'm gonna psychologically damage my kid today!" At least, I hope they don't. It still happens, of course, but they mostly don't mean to. That's pretty much Max's relationship with his father. It was fun to explore. Fuck, they've got some baggage, though. Good luck with that, babe. 
> 
> I'm so mean to him. I love him, I swear!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! It means a lot!


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